


one button at a time

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: “I understand,” Jaskier says, stepping into his space. Geralt resists the urge to step back. “If you were there you’d have to admit that you love to watch me. But it's a shame, because I do dearly love to be watched.” His eyes are very close and very blue, and Geralt stops breathing. The expression on Jaskier’s face is, just for a moment, far too wistful to accompany innuendo.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 439





	one button at a time

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to offer something to distract from the stress of the world, for those who might need it tonight. Life is hard, let's take our pleasures where we can find them. <3

Their shared room is barely large enough for the two of them and their gear to fit comfortably, but Jaskier still manages to circle around Geralt, who stands in the center of the room, like a colorful whirlwind. Geralt has stopped trying to follow Jaskier with his eyes because he was getting dizzy, so now he just waits for Jaskier to flit back into his field of vision.

“The mood down there is ideal for a thrilling and lucrative performance,” Jaskier chatters effusively at him, tossing his worn travel boots into the corner where he will no doubt trip over them later, and exchanging them for his fancy calfskin pair, dyed crimson to match his trousers. He hops on one foot and Geralt automatically puts out a steadying hand, which Jaskier leans into probably without realizing it. “Did you see how well the ale is flowing? These people are not short of coin.”

“I thought you did this for the pleasure of performing.” Geralt doesn’t bother to keep the gentle sarcasm from his voice.

“Ah, but a bard cannot live on pleasure alone,” Jaskier replies, straightening to meet Geralt’s eyes with a saucy wink. Geralt gives him a slow, unimpressed blink, but can’t help it if his mind follows exactly where Jaskier wants it to go.

Jaskier bustles away again, taking a swig of ale as he passes the little table by the door, and continuing on to grab his silk doublet from the end of the bed. “I think I’ll begin with ‘The Barmaid’s Tale,’” he muses, shrugging his arms into the crimson sleeves. “It’s just tawdry enough to make listeners blush and then open their hearts and purses to me. Not to mention other things, if the night goes well. What do you think, Geralt?”

“I think you don’t need any help from a song for that,” Geralt replies, something hot curling in his stomach. It might be called jealousy, should Geralt wish to acknowledge it. He doesn’t.

“Why, Geralt,” Jaskier purrs, pivoting slowly to face him as his fingers nimbly move up the doublet’s small buttons, “I’m flattered that you would think so. Do tell me more.”

Geralt flattens his mouth and refuses to speak.

Jaskier waves a dismissive hand in Geralt’s face. “No need, I already know that you secretly long for me. I admire your forbearance, truly.”

Geralt feels the blood drain from his face and is glad that Jaskier is paying more attention to the doublet than to him, then realizes that Jaskier was simply teasing him. “It’s a daily struggle,” he manages, aiming for a matching tone.

The room feels oddly airless and Geralt’s fingers itch as he watches the little shell buttons slip through their holes, closing the fabric over the naked skin of Jaskier’s throat.

“What do you think? Open or closed?” Jaskier lifts his chin and gestures to the top three buttons.

“Open,” Geralt murmurs. He doesn’t miss how Jaskier licks his lips as he tugs the buttons loose again.

“Are you coming to watch?” he asks Geralt, tugging on the ruffled cuffs of his shirt to straighten the sleeves. “It’s bound to be memorable. I feel like I could simply burst with anticipation.”

Geralt feels the same. “My armor needs mending.”

“I understand,” Jaskier says, stepping into his space. Geralt resists the urge to step back. “If you were there you’d have to admit that you love to watch me. But it's a shame, because I do dearly love to be watched.” His eyes are very close and very blue, and Geralt stops breathing. The expression on Jaskier’s face is, just for a moment, far too wistful to accompany innuendo. Then he pats Geralt on the cheek and glides away again, grasping the doorknob and waving over his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your delusions then. Wish me luck!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls out, his voice rougher than he expected. “Did you forget something?”

Jaskier stops and stares at the closed door for a long moment, then says, “Yes,” and takes two strides back to slide his hands through Geralt’s hair, tugging him quickly into a kiss. His mouth is soft and warm, and when he flicks his tongue past Geralt’s lips he tastes of ale and the honeyed bread they had at dinner. Geralt’s heart gives one heavy thump of shock and then he leans into the kiss, opening his mouth, and Jaskier’s hands clench hard in his hair.

“I’ve been so patient,” Jaskier moans against his lips, “waiting for you to catch on. I’ve never been so patient in my whole life.”

“I was waiting for you,” Geralt protests, sliding his hand to the small of Jaskier’s back and pulling him close.

“I didn’t want to rush you before you were ready.”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

Jaskier laughs breathlessly. “Then we’re both idiots,” he says, flinging one arm around Geralt’s shoulders. “Let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

Geralt doesn’t stop to question what’s happening, having wanted it for so long, and drops his mouth to the naked skin of Jaskier’s throat, sucking and laving it with his tongue while Jaskier whines. He tugs at the buttons and Jaskier makes a sound of protest, catching Geralt’s fingers before they can do damage.

“If you rip one single button I’ll make you sew it back on,” Jaskier warns, but Geralt can hear the grin in his words.

So Geralt presses him against the wall of their little room and proceeds to carefully open his doublet one button at a time, stroking the revealed skin with the backs of his fingers as he goes. Jaskier’s mouth is kiss reddened, his pulse fluttering at his throat, and Geralt can’t decide which he’d like to nibble at more. By the time the low embroidered neckline of his shirt is revealed Jaskier is panting and clutching at Geralt’s shoulders.

“I never thought you’d be a tease,” Jaskier gasps.

“I’m only doing as you asked,” Geralt mutters, frowning.

“Don’t get me wrong, I approve wholeheartedly. I’m a big fan of teasing. It’s only that right now I’m almost ready to rip the buttons out myself.”

“You could help,” Geralt points out, biting at Jaskier’s jawline.

“Good point,” Jaskier whispers, his fingers racing down the buttons, pushing Geralt’s hands out of the way. Bereft of purpose, Geralt finds the high waist of Jaskier’s trousers and tucks his fingers inside where the fabric is warm from his body. Jaskier moans and tries to rock against Geralt’s thigh.

“What about your lucrative performance?” Geralt braces himself for Jaskier’s motion, his blood thrumming at the feel of Jaskier’s hard cock against his hip.

“Fuck singing,” Jaskier rasps, finally slipping out of his doublet. He lets it fall to the floor with uncharacteristic carelessness.

Geralt smirks. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I never thought I’d have you.” Jaskier kisses him again, deep and dirty.

Whatever Geralt had planned to say next is lost, his mouth having more important things to do. Jaskier kisses him like he’s trying to turn him inside out, like he’s trying to make up for years of lost time, and Geralt can only grip Jaskier tight against him and plan to never let him go. He pulls back to gasp for breath, inhaling Jaskier’s rich scent beneath the layers of lavender and vanilla that cling to his skin.

Jaskier pushes him, and Geralt stumbles back until his legs hit the bed. He pulls Jaskier down with him, grunting when Jaskier swings a leg over to straddle his thighs, grinding shamelessly against him. Jaskier is glorious above him, stripping the shirt over his head and urging Geralt to do the same, raking the pads of his fingertips down Geralt’s stomach when it’s revealed.

Geralt grins up at him, at the lust-glazed look in Jaskier’s eyes, and the expression feels a little odd on his face but he can’t help but revel in the thrill of being able to look, to touch. Jaskier’s chest is soft with hair, and Geralt trails his fingers through it to circle around his nipples, dragging across the little pebbled peaks. Jaskier presses into the touch, his heartfelt groan turning into a laugh.

“I don’t know what I want,” he says, touching Geralt’s mouth, dipping inside. Geralt sucks at his fingertips and Jaskier gasps. “You have no idea how many ways I’ve imagined us, all the ways we could take each other apart.”

"Choose anything,” Geralt whispers, sitting up to kiss him again, and Jaskier flings his arms around Geralt’s neck. “If you’ve thought of it, for certain I have too.”

“I want to ride you,” Jaskier says between kisses, his fingers digging into Geralt’s shoulders, “but I know I won’t last.”

“We’ll do that next then.” Geralt smooths the hair out of Jaskier’s eyes. “We have time.”

Jaskier pauses in his constant motion, his desperation slowing, his gaze softening. “Do we?”

Geralt nods, a little surprised. “I thought that was obvious.”

“There is nothing obvious about you, Geralt,” Jaskier replies.

“You can have as much time as it takes to go through your list.”

Jaskier smiles, his eyes gleaming. “It’s a very long list.”

“I’ve got my own list, after we finish yours.” Geralt kisses him again and Jaskier melts. His frenzy has passed, transmuting into something deeper, more worthy of all the time they’ve known each other and all the moments that led up to this one.

“In that case,” Jaskier says, his mouth against Geralt’s temple, “give me this, for now.” He slides his hand over Geralt’s cock through his breeches, testing the shape of him, and Geralt groans.

Jaskier leans back to let Geralt open his breeches and pull himself out. He sucks in a breath when Jaskier wraps his fingers around his cock, and he grits his teeth as he throbs in the tight grip. Jaskier finds a slow rhythm that has Geralt chasing sparks toward a brighter burn, and Geralt rests his forehead against Jaskier’s shoulder, just breathing him in. When he starts to feel selfish he tries to return the favor, and Jaskier shakes his head and moves Geralt’s hands away.

“You, first. This is what I want.”

Geralt tucks his face into the curve of Jaskier’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. His cologne has faded beneath the salt and spice of his desire and Geralt needs it like he needs air to breathe. He holds it in his lungs until he sees sparkles at the edges of his vision, bites gently at Jaskier’s jaw, and comes in a rush. He shudders through it and Jaskier holds him close, whispering broken phrases about how good Geralt is, how wonderful.

When he has recovered enough to open his eyes, Geralt unbuttons Jaskier’s trousers with lust-clumsy fingers, drawing him out and soaking up the heavy heat of him. He licks his palm and slips his hand around Jaskier’s cock, gently tugging until Jaskier moans and thrusts into his grip, losing his composure. Jaskier’s face is flushed and his eyes are bright, and he flings his head back as he gasps for air.

“I won’t last long,” he warns, his voice trembling. His fingers trace restless lines across Geralt’s shoulders and his hips strain forward as though he would climb closer into Geralt’s body if he only could.

“I don’t need you to,” Geralt says, and Jaskier whimpers.

“Gods, Geralt. Just look at me. I want to see your eyes.”

Geralt doesn’t understand the request but he follows it anyway, meeting and holding Jaskier’s gaze. He doesn’t know what Jaskier is seeing, but whatever it is makes him smile and shake apart in Geralt’s arms, pulsing hot and wet over his hand. Jaskier falls forward in a loose curve of limbs, heavy and sated. He kisses Geralt softly, his mouth relaxed and lush, his tongue thrusting slowly as though to somehow continue what they have just finished.

When he finally pulls back again he’s grinning softly, his eyes shining and euphoric. “That’s the first thing on the list.”

Geralt grabs a corner of the sheet beneath them and wipes them clean. “Give me a minute and we can try the next one.”

“Only a minute?” Jaskier teases, glancing down, and then his eyes widen. He looks back up and Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. “You know, if that’s all it takes then we’ll be through the list much faster than I had anticipated.”

“We’ll have to go through it all again then, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

Jaskier nods, looking faintly relieved. “Some of the things are worthy of repetition, for certain. And then there are the variations on a theme. Many themes to explore.”

Geralt kisses him and slips his hands down the small of his back and inside his loosened trousers, lightly sliding his fingers lower and lower, exploring gently and enjoying Jaskier’s shiver. “I remember you saying you were a fan of teasing.”

“I did say that. I think I may come to regret it.”

“I hope not,” Geralt murmurs, watching the pleasure flit across Jaskier’s face and quicken his breath. “Why don’t you tell me what you want next, and I’ll give it to you as slowly as possible.”

Jaskier laughs and whispers it in Geralt’s ear.

*****

“I meant your lute,” Geralt says a long while later, his chest still heaving from exertion. Beside him Jaskier twitches.

“What about my lute?”

“When I asked if you had forgotten something. I meant your lute.”

Jaskier scrubs a hand over his face and laughs. “I was thinking of a kiss. I knew you’d never really ask for one, and I realized I was tired of waiting.”

“I should have,” Geralt admits. “I should have asked years ago.”

Jaskier turns his head and fixes him with a look. “How many years?”

“How long have I known you?”

There is silence and utter stillness for several moments, then Jaskier is a blur of motion rolling back into Geralt and kissing him hard, spearing his fingers into Geralt’s hair and clutching tightly. “We’re idiots,” he declares fervently, resting his forehead against Geralt’s.

“That’s not very poetic.”

“You’ve stolen all my words away.” Jaskier doesn’t sound terribly upset about it.

“It’s a miracle.”

Geralt fends off a half-hearted slap to his shoulder and laughs. The sound surprises him, and he can’t remember the last time he laughed out loud.

“Beautiful,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt closes his eyes. There is a slow-burning fire in his chest and Jaskier is a warm weight on his side. It’s taken too many years to reach this perfect moment, but he’s in no rush to leave it for the next one. They have time.


End file.
